


Life in a Powder Keg

by nuricurry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Graphic Description, M/M, Raising Harry Potter, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 15:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16789330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuricurry/pseuds/nuricurry
Summary: "I don't know what to do and I'm always in the darkWe're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks"---It had been his own head that reminded him, his ever elusive good sense making it’s starring appearance to remind him that James and Lily had a baby, and he was his godfather, and someone had to look after him, now that they were gone.





	Life in a Powder Keg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gravy_tape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravy_tape/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Holding Out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15726465) by [bigblackdog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblackdog/pseuds/bigblackdog). 



> This ended up being less about 'Remus and Sirius raise Harry together' and more a scattered mess of a story that better fits under the description, 'Sirius Black has got depression'. If you came hoping for the former, I'm only warning you of an abundance of the latter.

If there was any force or concept of fairness in the world, Peter Pettigrew was lying dead at the bottom of some pit, in a place for Sirius to find him, and piss on his corpse.

James and Lily Potter were dead. They were dead, and Peter Pettigrew was to blame.

He wanted to kill him. He wanted to blast him apart, get him put back together again, and then destroy him again, because that’s what he had done to Sirius’ life, when he let Voldemort kill James and Lily Potter. Sirius vowed that if he ever saw him again, he’d rip his heart out with his bare hands. Spells, curses, magic be damned; none of it would accomplish the revenge he wanted, the revenge he deserved.

But Sirius couldn’t seek out revenge, he couldn’t Peter Pettigrew down, because when James and Lily died, they left behind Harry, and he was reminded that it was his responsibility to take care of him. It had been his own head that reminded him, his ever elusive good sense making it’s starring appearance to remind him that James and Lily had a baby, and he was his godfather, and someone had to look after him, now that they were gone.

Dumbledore had suggested Lily’s sister. Sirius had practically laughed in his face.

It took much convincing, and several character witnesses to convince anyone that Sirius Black should be entrusted with a one year old child. McGonagall, to his surprise, had spoken in his favor, though not without some sharp criticism and her familiar cynicism thrown in. One of his distant Weasley cousins also advocated for him, which had been confusing, but Sirius decided to appreciate it regardless. But it was the defense of his character from Remus that Sirius hadn’t fully been prepared for, which was a bit uncomfortable to say, given that once, Remus had been someone who he never doubted to stand up for him.

That was his fault, of course, but he also liked to put a little bit of blame on Remus. They had grown suspicious of each other, they stopped being able to trust one another, so Sirius distanced himself from him, and Remus returned the favor in kind, which only lead to further misguided anger, and plenty of heated words thrown between each other. But, Remus had still gone to plead for Sirius’ right to raise Harry, and the request was granted, and Sirius was sent off with an infant and firm instructions to stay out of sight.

It had been two months since then, Christmas and New Year had come and gone, and Sirius still hadn’t spoken to Remus.

He hadn’t any plans where he intended to. James and Lily were dead, Peter was a liar, and he was left to raise Harry and Sirius simply couldn’t accept any other conflict into his life. And that was what he assumed speaking with Remus would open up; conflict. He had been wrong, he had made a terrible mistake, and he knew that he was likely expected to apologize, and attempt to make up for that. But Sirius was bitter, and Sirius was stubborn, and he refused to admit he had done anything wrong, even if he knew he did, because his mouth was never in good communication with his brain.

Besides, how could he even hope to apologize for thinking the worst of Remus, when always, he had been the best man he’d ever known? How could he bring notice to the fact that he had hurt him, that he had been wrong, and it had gotten their friends killed? Was he supposed to just walk up to him, and say that everything good in their lives was now ruined, because he was stupid and brash, and full of too much pride, and not enough confidence to actually speak to someone about all the fears he had?

So Sirius didn’t talk to him. He didn’t contact him. He instead kept his head low, and did what Dumbledore said, and found a little flat in a Muggle village where he and Harry could stow away, and hopefully live out his life, while keeping Harry well in the process.

Except he was two months in, and Sirius felt the world crumbling beneath his feet.

He pounded his fist against the door to Remus’ flat-- or, at least the last flat that Sirius knew he lived at-- and after a horrible twenty seconds, the door finally opened.

Remus Lupin stood in the door, wearing a knit sweater two sizes too big, a pair of well pressed Levis, and brightly colored tree light socks that were likely purchased on sale the day after Christmas. “What’s going on? Can I help you with something?”

“It’s me,” Sirius said, as he pulled his scarf down, and with it, released the enchantment on the fabric that had changed his black hair to blonde, and his brown skin to white. Upon recognizing him, Sirius wondered if Remus might consider slamming the door in his face, so he unzippered his jacket, until the top of Harry’s head could be shown. He took a bet on the fact that Remus wouldn’t send him back out into the snow with an infant in his arms. “I need to talk to you.”

Remus stared at him, until a patch of snow fell off his porch and onto Sirius’ head, before he finally stepped way from the door, to allow him inside.

“What are you doing here?” Remus demanded, one hand turning the locks while the other pulled his wand from a pocket, casting a series of spells on the door, “I can’t believe you’re out running around with Harry like that, after what happened! Do you think a stupid glamour is good enough to warrant that? God Sirius, I know you’re smarter than that.”

Instinctively, Sirius wanted to snap back, to counter that claim with the assertion that actually, he wasn’t, and it was Remus’ own fault for being so mislead. But, he didn’t, because he was inside Remus’ flat, and he hadn’t been there for half a year. There were still books crammed into every corner, any flat surface that could be used to hold more paper or books occupied, and it smelled like spilt ink and the coffee and bread from the bakery up the block, smells that he had come to know as belonging to Remus alone, and it made him pause, and take a deep breath in.

“What did you need to talk about?” Remus asked, and Sirius could how guarded he was through his tone. That was another thing he had long since learned to pick up from him; the changes in his voice, the subtle shifts in his expression, the little clues that told him all the things he ever needed to know when it came to Remus. At least, all the things except whether or not he had betrayed their friend circle.

“I can’t do this,” Sirius finally spoke to him again, as he turned to face him. Fully pulling down the zipper of his leather jacket, he revealed properly the infant Harry that he held in one arm, tucked in tight to his chest, in order to keep him warm. “I can’t Remus. I know I should, I know that I promised, but I can’t. It’s too much. He cries, and he vomits and he doesn’t sleep. I don’t sleep!” he cried, and his sudden shout stirred the previously dozing Harry enough that his green eyes fluttered open, and once they did, and he realized he was awake, he began to wail. “I can’t Remus! I just can’t!”

With his hands held over his ears, trying to block out as much as the sound as he could, Remus said, “Then send him to Dumbledore. He’ll bring him to Lily’s sister, like he planned!”

Sirius did not even try to hide how offended he was. “How dare you? You know how awful that woman is! She was a right bitch to Lily, and she’s likely to be a right bi--”

“Then what do you want to do, Sirius?!” Remus had to shout at him, to be heard over the increasing pitch of Harry’s cries. “If you don’t want to do it--”

That time, it was Sirius who cut him off. “I want you to come with me! I want you to help me!”

After that, Remus didn’t say anything. He went silent, likely out of shock. He stood there, mouth hung agape as Sirius tried to hush Harry, and after several painful minutes where he struggled to do so, the boy eventually seemed to wear himself out, and his screaming stopped, fading instead into wet, pathetic whimpers. “I want you to come look after Harry with me, Moony,” Sirius said, as he met Remus’ eyes.”

“...You haven’t called me that in a long time,” Remus said softly.

“Yeah, well, I hadn’t much felt like it.”

With that remark, Remus seemed to come back to himself, and he sighed, putting a hand over his eyes, then beginning to rub his face. “It’s a terrible idea, Sirius. Even more terrible than your idea to come over here. I’m a… I’ve got…. My condition is…”

“Fuck off with all of that,” Sirius spat, “You know damn well I don’t give a shit about that. James and Lily didn’t either.”

“It isn’t just about you, or Lily, or James,” Remus attempted to argue, “There are other people who will surely not be all too supportive of a werewolf being left in charge of the welfare of a baby.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, well, they seemed willing to put me in charge of the kid, and I’ve got a blacker record than you.”

“You know I hate it when you use that joke.”

For the first time in two months-- perhaps the first time in longer than that-- Sirius felt his lips crack in a smile. He thought that perhaps, in Remus’ eyes, he saw the inclination to do the same, but it never fully realized, and the two of them ended up standing there, and staring at each other.

“I don’t want to do this alone,” Sirius finally confessed, and it wasn’t until he said it, that he understood how true a statement that was. He had never been a man who enjoyed being on his own, he had always benefited from the company of others, he had always done better when there was someone else beside him, to guide him, and urge him along.

Sirius Black was a man who feared loneliness, and Remus Lupin had always been the man capable of curing that.

“Please Remus...Moony,” he pleaded, “Come with me.”

* * *

They didn’t talk about the months that preceded the events at Godric’s Hollow. Remus didn’t address it, and Sirius didn’t mention it, and so it simply lingered, hanging listlessly in the background of their lives like one of Hogwarts’ countless ghosts.

Remus moved out of his flat, and into the cramped attic that Sirius found for himself and Harry months before. The front door opened directly into the fridge, and beyond that was nearly the entire rest of the apartment. The kitchen contained a tiny stove, and strangely enough a washing machine, and just three cabinets and barely a meter of counter space, which left the whole arrangement feeling quite cramped. There was no defined ‘end’ to the kitchen; it just turned into the dining room and the living room, and the only real cut off was the hallway, which was dark and narrow and contained three doors, two for the bedrooms, and one for the bathroom, which Sirius had accidentally locked himself out of a month and a half ago, and had simply been blipping himself in and out with spells whenever he needed.

At first, Remus had assumed he’d be taking the second bedroom. However, Sirius explained to him that one had been his, and one was Harry’s, and he wasn’t quite sure of where he wanted to arrange himself, with that information.

Once, they would have naturally shared a room. Once, they had thought nothing of sharing a bed, because it made all the more sense for them to be in the same one, given how they were likely going to be shagging on it later. Now, there was that air of uncertainty, that question of _where are we standing?_ that Sirius didn’t know if he wanted answered.

In the end, Remus took the couch. It was short and overstuffed and his long spindly legs hung over the armrest of it, but he had his space there, and Sirius supposed that was what he wanted, when he took it upon himself to claim that spot for his own, taking only a beaten and ragged quilt from his own luggage to use to cover himself up at night.

The first morning that Sirius woke up with Remus now occupying the flat, it was to the sound of something scraping, and he blearily crawled out of bed and stumbled into the hall, to see Remus kneeling at the bathroom door with his wand in hand.

As Sirius stood in his own doorway, blearily squinting at him, Remus looked up, and without even giving any attention to the knob in his hand, flicked his wand, and Sirius heard the lock pop open.

“Oh. I should have thought of that.”

“You? Do things the easy way? How absurd.”

Sirius flipped him off, and went to go get Harry from his crib, while Remus stepped into the bathroom, closing the door soundly behind him.

He had just gotten Harry into a new diaper and onesie when he heard an unholy scream from the bathroom, and Sirius bolted from the room with his wand raised and a hex already half-way out of his mouth. Remus stood in the hall, completely naked and dripping onto the floorboards, and when he heard Sirius approach, he spun on him to give him a furious glare. “You haven’t got hot water!”

“What?” Sirius said, because of all things to exit Remus’ mouth, that was not one he expected.

“Your water! It doesn’t get hot!”

“Oh,” he said, slowly, as Remus continued on with his glowering, “No, it doesn’t. I’ve always just enchanted the tap.”

“You could have warned me before I got in the shower,” Remus muttered, as he huffed his way back into the bathroom, and took his wand from the sink, before slamming the door.

“Well you didn’t ask!” Sirius snapped, a touch cross, bothered by the door slammed in his face.

He didn’t want to think about how it used to be where they never needed to discuss those sorts of things; Remus always knew all the quirks and oddities about the things in Sirius’ life, just like he knew all about the ones in his.

* * *

It was nearly a fortnight later when Remus informed him that he would be leaving for the next three days.

“What?” Sirius said, and at that moment Harry decided to shove his fist into Sirius’ mouth, which made him spit and sputter, pulling the boy’s tiny hand free. “Harry, stop that.”

“It’s a full moon this weekend,” Remus explained, and that was all that needed to be said.

“Oh, then I’ll come with you,” Sirius said on instinct, because he had always gone along with Remus when he left for the moons, but the other shook his head.

“You can’t leave Harry.”

Looking down at the infant who was staring up at him in his lap, Sirius realized that Remus was right.

It wasn’t a particularly nice realization.

Remus took a small bag filled with few spare clothes and as always his wand. Sirius, with Harry on his arm, saw him off at the door. The two of them stood there awkwardly, not sure how a parting between them was best approached. It used to be they went their separate ways with a touch, a kiss, a few exchanged promises, and jokes between them. Right then, they just looked at each other, while Harry gurgled and pulled at Sirius’ hair.

“Look after yourself,” he eventually said, lamely. At first, Remus quirked an eyebrow, then let out a laugh.

“You too. I’ll be back in a few days.”

* * *

It was strange how, though Remus had been cohabiting with him for nearly three weeks, in the matter of three days, Sirius felt just the same as he had before Remus left; panicked, confused, desperate, and always on the verge of something terrible going wrong.

Outside the flat window, the streets were dark save for the occasional yellow glow of a lamp, their light diminished by the torrent of rain that was coming down from the heavens. Sirius was attempting to distract Harry (and a bit himself) by playing an extended game of peek-a-boo, but for as many times as Harry squealed, he got distracted, and Sirius felt he was slowly losing the battle with boredom.

From outside their flat door, there was the sound of heavy footsteps, and as the only room on their floor, Sirius knew whoever it was was coming for the two of them, and so he lifted up Harry to place him on his him, while the other searched the table for his wand, and he tucked it in the back pocket of his trousers, while he cautiously approached the door. The person on the other side of it tried the knob, and, finding it locked, began to knock, and carefully, Sirius pressed his ear up to the door, to try and hear anything that would tell him who had arrived.

“Hello?” Remus’ voice came from the other side, and at once, Sirius felt his shoulders relax, “Let me in. I haven’t got a key.”

The swell of relief was short lived, however. Caution returned, with a biting vengeance, and Sirius found himself narrowing his eyes a bit again. “Give me the word,” he said, “Prove to me that it’s really you.”

“Padfoot,” Remus’ voice answered, so softly that if Sirius hadn’t had his ear to the door he wouldn’t have heard it, “Moony wants to come in.”

Sirius unlocked the door, and pulled it open just a crack, his dark eyes peering through the opening, and doing a quick scan of the other. It looked to be Remus-- albeit a soaking wet and ragged Remus-- but he still retrieved his wand from his pocket, and murmured a few soft spells. No curses or illusions made themselves known to him, and so Sirius stepped aside, and opened the door further, to allow Remus in. As the other stepped into the room, and the door closed behind him, Sirius was struck with a new sense that came in with him, and he looked at Remus with a grimace.

“You smell like something that’s been run over and doused in petrol,” Sirius said, with an exaggerated pinch of his nose.

“Well, possibly because I ate roadkill on my way here.”

Sirius gawked. Harry gurgled on his hip, tiny fist continuing to pull viciously at his hair. “Are you having me off Moons?” he asked, his voice strangled and quiet.

Remus ruefully smiled. “I had to have something. I was starved.”

Another silence stretched out between them, Sirius feeling as if he was standing on a wire hung between two towers of Hogwarts, and about to tip over on either side. He didn’t know whether it was concern, or disgust, or awe, that caused his stomach to bunch up and migrate towards his socks, but whatever it was, it seemed to be getting worse..

“I’m joking.”

The flat, dry tone of Remus’ voice meant that the meaning of his remark almost completely flew over Sirius’ head, and so it took him until that smile cracked his scarred lips for it to properly settle, and once it did, Sirius let out an indignant squawk.

“You bastard! You absolute wanker!” he swore at the other, hoping his anger would distract somewhat from the heat that rose to his ears, “I can’t believe you did that! You sick fuck, Moons, I should hex you with swamp warts!” Though Harry was clearly too young to understand what was being said, or what had upset Sirius, the rise in volume seemed to resonate with him, and his voice joined his godfather’s, chasting Remus in a high pitched babble. “Yeah! You tell ‘im Harry!” Sirius encouraged him, feeling strangely encouraged by a child’s participation in his reproach, “Sod off, Moony!”

Harry squealed, which Sirius interpreted as meaning something quite foul, and nodded at the boy he held with satisfaction, feeling he had spoken well enough for the both of them.

For his part, Remus patiently took the shouting from the both of them without any complaint, but judging from the smile he wore the whole while, Sirius suspected he didn’t pay much mind to the scolding, which was simply unfair-- that was Sirius’ job, to brush off any actual lesson to be learned, while Remus took everything to heart.

“‘Allo Harry,” Remus said once the other two had quieted down for a moment, and with his hands extended, he reached out for the boy who still had one hand fisted in Sirius’ hair and the other in his ratted jumper. “Let me see you. I’ve missed you terribly.”

Within a blink, any shyness or disinterest towards Remus was gone, as a wide smile split Harry’s face, and he released his holds on Sirius to instead reach his arms out towards Remus. _Traitor_ , Sirius couldn’t help but think to himself childishly, but he allowed the other man to take the baby from him, settling him easily against his chest. “Harry’s forgiven you, but I haven’t,” he sniffed, and turned on his heel to head back to the kitchen table. He took a piece of toast and dipped it into the can of beans, chewing irritably, and refusing to look at either Remus or Harry, instead staring straight ahead towards the window on the far wall, that was the one that gave them the unparalleled view of the neighboring building.

“What’s that?” Remus asked when he finally decided to approach Sirius, and Sirius felt his eyes curiously scan over the table setting in front of him, “Beans and toast?”

“I haven’t ever learned to cook a damn thing, and I needed to eat something,” he explained dryly, still stubbornly refusing to look away from the window. The opposing brick looked as if it had gotten a recent wash; Sirius wondered if their landlord ever payed to have the house sprayed down, or if they were expected to just sit around and crack and rot.

“Spare a bite?” Sirius eyes narrowed, glaring holes through the window pane. “I am serious. I’m genuinely starved after all that.”

When they were in school, Sirius remembered those mornings after the full moon, how Remus would need help being snuck back up into their dormitory, his face pale and covered in a sheen of sweat. Sirius recalled how he’d always ask for some chocolate, or a nibble of crisps while he recovered. Eventually, their private stores of study snacks and treats from home weren’t quite enough, especially once all of them went about joining Remus when he’d slip out to the Shack, and they had to improvise.

At first, the day after a full moon used to include a hefty feast of stolen food from the school’s kitchens, and skipping lessons, and sitting together in their dorm room with games like cards or chess, laughing uproariously at filthy jokes that made Peter blush and Remus groan. Then, when they were older, and no longer students, that day was often spent with Sirius taking his bike and going to the town south of little cottage Remus had that belonged to his Welsh greatly-removed grandmother, then returning an hour later laden down with bags of fried take away and sweets. The two of them would eat half of before throwing off their clothes and fucking until hunger struck them again which then caused the cycle to repeat.

Now, that day after the full moon was one where Sirius sat at the kitchen table, feeding Harry his breakfast of mashed apples, while keeping one eye on the door, anxiously awaiting for Remus to reappear.

He didn’t get to go along with Remus anymore. He didn’t get to be there, running through the moors alongside Remus, keeping him focused-- keeping him sane-- the two of them chasing rabbits or each other, and enjoying the feeling of being free.

_“Huzzah, we didn’t die!”_ Sirius had made a banner when they were in school once, and James had laughed at it, but Remus simply looked tired. When he returned from being away now, he always looked tired. There used to be nights were the shift wasn’t so bad, where they even had fun, and Remus would greet the morning with a smile. Now, it seemed even that was a thing of the past.

“Here, you greedy bastard,” Sirius said, pushing his entire plate over towards Remus, who looked surprised. “Don’t even try to give it back, or use that old lie of you ‘just want a bite’. You always ate the whole damned thing,” he huffed, as he got to his feet, and moved over to the stove. There was still some beans left burnt to the bottom of the pot, and he scraped them out onto the only other plate they had, before he returned to the table, rejoining Remus and Harry. “We share the soldiers though. That’s the last of the bread.” 

* * *

‘Careful’ was never a word that Sirius learned to heed. Careful was for people who thought ahead, the sort of people who made cohesive plans, and expected to live through them. Careful was a word for someone like Remus, never Sirius.

It was for that reason that Sirius was completely taken by surprise when Remus all but threw himself into their flat one brisk January afternoon, and said with a white face and blue lips, “I was followed.”

That morning Sirius had mentioned, while smacking his lips, that they were fresh out of milk. Remus, who had just fed and burped Harry, was playing with him on the carpet in front of the couch, using a selection of various stuff toys to entertain him. They had gotten into a system, a routine, where if they needed to fetch something, Remus would go out, and then Sirius would go out, and they would swap duties between the two of them, because it let them both have the chance to get out, without one getting more of an opportunity than the other. (Of course, Sirius had at first argued that he’d gone nearly two months without being able to go out on his own, before Remus arrived, but was soundly ignored for that comment.) That morning, it was Remus’ turn to go, and so he picked up the keys, and picked up their wallet, and he headed out, saying that he’d only be gone for maybe a half hour or so, as he went to the corner shop, and picked up a jug of milk, and maybe a few other things they needed, along the way.

An hour went by, and then two, and when Remus hadn’t gotten back, Sirius assumed that he was simply enjoying his freedom more than he planned, and he sourly kept track of the minutes, planning on using it all against Remus later, either when he returned, or the next time Sirius wanted to go out, and needed to get away for just a needed shopping trip.

A glance at the clock on the wall had just informed Sirius that it had nearly been three hours since Remus left, where there came a clatter and stomping on the stairs, and Sirius got off the couch just as the front door opened, and Remus stumbled his way through.

“Where’s Harry?” was the first thing that he asked, once he explained what happened, and took a look around the living room and noticed the boy was nowhere to be seen.

“Down for a nap,” Sirius answered, his voice surprisingly calm for the swell of dread that had taken up residence in his guts.

The two of them went from the sitting room to the dining table, and Sirius put on tea while Remus did his best to gather his wits. One boiled kettle and a box of Harry’s circus biscuits later, Sirius joined him with two steaming cups of tea placed between them.

Remus’ hands, large and scarred and rough, wrapped around the mug, and Sirius noticed how the cup nearly disappeared in his hold, dwarfed by the size of those hands. He was trembling, and not from the cold, less of a chattering of teeth and instead similar to the way he used to shake when he was sixteen and the moon was only two days away and he feared what would happen when he changed. It was a terrified shivering, one that Sirius had grown to know all too well, and it made him frown, and crumble the animal biscuit held in his hand.

“You’re being an idiot,” he said, his tone crude but his intention kinder, “They only followed you for, what? Two Apparitions? We’ve always said it’s best to use at least four, and doing more hasn’t failed us yet.” Pushing the creamer across the dining table, he offered it to Remus, knowing he always preferred his coffee to taste less like coffee and more like milk, but the other man’s hands did not move to accept the jug.

“I did seven. I went to Albania, to Turkey, even Sweden,” Remus murmured, his eyes trained down at the mug in his hands, though Sirius knew he wasn’t truly seeing it, “I scattered myself as much as I could. But what if it wasn’t enough?” he said, squeezing his eyes shut, “What if I lead them right back here--”

Sirius slapped his hand on the table, hard enough that it rattled everything atop of it. “That isn’t how this works,” he reminded Remus, “We’ve got a Secret-Keeper, we’ve got enough wards to choke a giant, you didn’t even come in through the Floo, there’s no way to track you, unless they physically grabbed onto your coat and you dragged them here. And I double checked. You haven’t got anything hanging off you, so you can just relax now. James’ll be--”

It was Remus who interrupted then, his face lifting suddenly and eyes sharpening onto Sirius’. “Harry,” he said, causing the other man to scrunch up his face, not understanding. “His name is _Harry_ , Sirius. Stop calling him James.”

“Did I?” Sirius said, his voice soft and eyes wide, “I hadn’t realized. You know it was an accident,” he excused himself, trying to wave off Remus’ frustration, but that only earned another frown, and Remus gave him a proper glare that time.

“It’s the third time I’ve heard you do it. Three times. He’s got a name, he’s got his own life, and if you’re going to think he’s some replacement--”

Again, Sirius’ hand slapped the tabletop. This time, however, it was violent enough to knock the jug of cream right off the edge, and it shattered onto the floor in a mess of white liquid and broken porcelain. Remus stopped talking, but didn’t stop frowning, and refused to back down, even as Sirius met his temper with the much more explosive sort of his own. “I don’t think that!” he roared, and the anger was enough to push him up and onto his feet, “I’m not an idiot Moony; I know he isn’t James! I know he won’t be replacing him! Nothing ever will!” How could someone replace the sun once it had gone out, Sirius wanted to ask, how could the world be put back into motion, after being stopped short for so long? That was what it felt like to him, that was how he had been living, since James and Lily died, leaving him without any clear direction in which to go. “It was a mistake. A slip of the tongue,” he hissed, as his eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth, “I’m fairly certain I’ve called you and Peter by his name half a dozen times, since we were thirteen.”

Remus did not reply. His only response was to sit back further against his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and look up at Sirius with that deep frown set on his face. It made the scarred side of his mouth pull down even further, and Sirius reflexively huffed at the sight of that, angry that he noticed such a detail, and angrier still that it almost made him want to laugh, were he not still so furious.

Before anything else could be said, there came the sound of muffled whimpering, then outright crying from the room down the hall, and as if he was released from some sort of stone-binding spell, Remus uncrossed his arms and got to his feet, moving to step around Sirius. “You’ve woken him up,” he chastised, as he headed towards the sound, “Now I’ve got to put him back to sleep.”

* * *

Like far too many arguments between them lately, they didn’t talk about the possibility of being followed again, after that. What they did instead was put more spells and wards on the flat, reinforce their walls and begin practicing dueling like they were back in school, and they didn’t swap turns going out. Instead, they all went out together, Harry either in a carrier or a pram, and Remus and Sirius both constantly looking over their shoulders.

Since he wasn’t able to go out on shop runs on his own anymore, Sirius had taken to instead to climbing up onto the roof of their flat when he needed to escape. The window that looked into their kitchen, and out at the brick of the neighboring building was his usual exit point, and with a few well placed pipes and rain gutters, the climb was made reasonably simple, and Sirius found himself up there nearly once a day.

The roof tiles clattered and creaked beneath his weight as he dropped himself down onto them, though he quickly jumped up again when a cracked one jammed itself quite rudely into the cleft of his backside, and so Sirius scooted over, and lowered himself down a bit more gently, to prevent another incident. Fishing around the inner pocket of his jacket, he produced a crushed carton of cigarettes, only one stick remaining unharmed enough to be properly enjoyed. Placing the filter between his teeth, he began also patting himself down for his wand, so that he could light it, but, after a minute of fruitless searching, he realized he had forgotten it inside. Fortunately, in the same pocket as the cigarettes there was an equally crushed matchbox, but he was still able to get them to ignite, and once the cigarette was smoldering and the distinctive scent of nicotine filled the air, Sirius greedily took in a drag, holding it in for as long as he could.

“God, what a terrible habit,” a voice said from behind him, and Sirius jumped again, like he was some kid caught smoking in a bathroom stall. Looking over his shoulder, he was met with Remus’ head peeking up over the edge of the roof, an exasperated expression worn on his face, “I thought Lily got you to stop doing that. For Harry,” he said pointedly.

“Well, fuck all to that then,” he muttered, as he turned back around, “Everyone tells you about how cigarettes are bad for kids, but no one ever told me that looking after one would make you need a smoke more than ever.”

There was the sound of roof tiles clattering again, and Sirius felt it where there was a weight that settled down onto the roof behind him. He didn’t turn around again immediately, instead stubbornly smoking his cigarette, and not looking towards Remus.

“Harry down for a nap?” he asked, conversationally.

“Yes. I put a charm on his crib to alert me, if something’s gone off.”

Sirius’ response was another exhale of smoke out into the brisk February air.

Silence fell between them, thick and suffocating. When Remus shifted, it made Sirius wonder if perhaps he was about to get up, and retreat back inside, but instead, the other man only moved closer, and reached out, to place a hand on his shoulder.

“Sirius, look at me.”

Like a spell, almost as if Remus had enchanted his words, Sirius felt himself turn around, and meet his eyes. His eyes, that warm hazel color, one he had once drunkenly poetically referred to as copper and rye, watched him, and then, they slipped closed, as Remus leaned forward, with his mouth parted. Sirius didn’t think; he just instinctively met him half way.

It was their first kiss in a year. It was not their first kiss that Sirius felt himself nearly weep into.

A dam was broken, one that had been barely held together with leaves and sticks as it was. A flood of emotion knocked that block away with the force of it’s current, and Sirius grabbed onto Remus’ face, pulling it closer to his, while Remus’ own hands gripped his thighs, keeping them both balanced in their precarious positions on the roof.

“Ah, shit,” Remus suddenly hissed, and the two of them broke apart. Looking down, Sirius saw the still burning end of his cigarette had fallen from his hand and landed on Remus’ shoulder, putting a hole through his jumper and leaving a blister on the skin.

“Sorry,” Sirius muttered an apology, as he took up the cigarette, and ground it out, before flicking it over the side of the building. Then, “C’mere,” as he hungrily kissed him again.

He kept leaning, kept pushing forward, until Remus relented under his weight, and laid back, aligning his spine with the high point of the roof. Sirius kissed him as if his mouth held the only air he could breathe, as if everything in the world he ever wanted was found in Remus, and Remus alone. And, perhaps, for him, that was true, because Remus was comfortable and familiar and the man who Sirius clung to, when everything else around him fell apart.

He shifted atop of him, and the tiles and roof protested beneath them, and suddenly Remus’ eyes shot open, and he looked up at Sirius with a gasp, and he held onto his shoulders, and pushed back. “Wait,” he said, breathless, “We can’t. Not here. I can’t fall to my death off a roof due to kissing.”

“Then what about shagging?” Sirius couldn’t help but joke, as he leaned forward despite Remus’ push, and placed his lips against the hollow of his throat.

“Oh Christ, even worse. I’m not wearing nice pants.”

At first, it was just a snort, then a chuckle, but soon enough Sirius was outright laughing, and Remus joined in with him. Loud, hearty guffaws had their shoulders trembling, and when Sirius did eventually sit back, it was so he could rub a tear out of his eye.

Remus sat up as well, and that smile of his persisted for only a moment, before, quietly, it faded, and his mood turned serious again.

“Why didn’t you trust me?” he asked, and Sirius felt as if he might as well have just pushed him off the roof. Mainly because he didn’t want to give an answer to that. He didn’t want to discuss it at all. He thought that they had come to an understanding, and this topic would be left unspoken, left unaddressed, buried deep down beneath a layer of exhaustion and desperation, replaced instead with the responsibility of looking after Harry, and pretending that they knew what they were doing.

“Well, why didn’t you trust _me_?” he decided to shoot back, unable to hold back on the touch of heat that entered his tone, “You should have known I’d rather die than hurt James or Lily. I’d gone and gotten myself burnt off my family tree, with loyalty to them, I’d even put my back to my own blood brother--”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, and though it was only two short words, they completely took the wind from Sirius’ sails, “I’m so sorry. I was stupid, I know it.” His hand that had lingered on Sirius’ thigh gave a squeeze, an apologetic one, before he spoke up again. “But, what made you think it was me?”

Sirius couldn’t look at him. He turned his head away, focused his eyes instead on the chimney of the house two streets over, and said, “Because I thought it was better to think the worst of you and be proven wrong, then to assume the best, and be proven wrong.” In retrospect, it hardly seemed like a good excuse, but Sirius had never been known for coming up with good excuses for the things he did. That had always been Remus’ job.

Remus didn’t say anything for a long moment, but then, he reached out, and his other hand found the side of Sirius’ neck. “I’m sorry, Sirius.”

They didn’t speak again, after that. The mood was ruined, and the painful awkwardness in place. Remus lingered for only a few more minutes, before he excused himself and shimmied down the roof, and back into the window, explaining to Sirius that he was going to go check on Harry. Sirius stayed where he was, still looking out at the roofs of the other buildings, and doing his best to ignore the tightness in his chest.

Absently, he lifted his hand to his mouth in a habitual motion, but instead of the familiar sensation of a filter touching his lips, he instead felt nothing. “Fuck!” he suddenly shouted, as he realized belatedly what he had done, when he threw his last cigarette off the roof, down onto the soggy streets below.

* * *

His clothes haven’t been washed in over two weeks, the pile that’s accumulated in front of the washer having long since toppled over and scattered across the kitchen floor. Sirius has long since abandoned the concept of underwear; it seems strangely pointless to him to have one more thing to wash, when he’s already got trousers on, and though Remus initially turned up his nose and scoffed a bit at that, three days ago he ran out of briefs of his own and suddenly decided to join Sirius in this new lifestyle. Judgmental git, he had privately thought to himself, but outwardly made no mention of it, though he did comment on the spectacle that was Remus’ socks.

“Did you rip them off someone’s nan?” he taunted, eyes roving over the delicate lace and floral pattern and patched left heel.

“I ripped them off you, arsehole,” Remus replied.

“Oh,” Sirius blinked, “So you did. Well, they’re actually a bit charming, I’ve got excellent taste…”

Remus didn’t dignify him with a response, and the laundry continued to build, until, even toppled over, it reached Sirius’ hip, and Harry had run out of footies and clothes, forcing Sirius to drape him in one of Remus’ smaller shirts, but it still all but swallowed him, and was more a curtain with a neck hole, than proper clothing.

It was at that point-- and not because of the horrified look on their neighbor’s face when she came to drop off some extra biscuits and saw the mess-- that Sirius decided to sort out how to do the laundry. He started by fishing around in one of the cluttered drawers of their kitchen, searching for some sort of manual for the washing machine to learn how to operate it, the thing having all manners of buttons and knobs that he didn’t understand. Cool rinse? Tumble dry? Delicates? He couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and he hoped there was some sort of Muggle manuscript that would direct him properly. His next effort was to pull various books and scrolls off of the cramped bookshelf Remus kept in what passed for their living room, which was in part the dining room, and the entryway, then carry them all to the table, and hope one of them had the answers he needed.

_Madame Hortense’s Happy Housekeeper Helper_ bore yellowed pages and faded print, and a spine that cracked like a twig, but it also had a whole index on washing spells, from spotless dishes to glossy floorboards, and Sirius spent several hours pouring over them, practicing some and dog earring others, before he finally found one that was titled simply, ‘ _Labor-free Laundry_ ’.

By the time that Remus returned from the store, a small bag of groceries hanging from his fingers and a newspaper tucked under his arm, there were lines of damp and dripping clothes crisscrossing the apartment, and Sirius standing in the middle of it, with Harry on his hip and wand in hand.

“What’ve you done?” Remus gaped at him, and his eyes went wide.

“I’ve been washing,” Sirius replied, unable to hide the note of offense in his tone, clearly not pleased by how Remus didn’t seem to appreciate his genius or his effort. “I’ve just got to find the proper drying spell and then we’ll be clothed like proper men again.”

“We’ve never been that,” Remus countered reflexively.

“First time for everything then.”

* * *

It’s Remus who suggested that they consider disguising themselves when they had to go outside.

“I stand out a bit,” he pointed out, and when Sirius looked away from playing with Harry, he took a moment to observe the other’s face, not immediately realizing what he meant. After all, to him, Remus is more charming than he is handsome, with mousy brown hair that hangs shaggily around his ears, and he’s got a big crooked nose, and he’s shorter than most, and skinnier than just about everyone. If anything, he thought that Remus was perhaps the least likely out of all three of them to draw suspicion, giving how outstandingly average he is. Sirius doesn’t mean anything cruel about it, since a lack of dashing or catching looks had never stopped him from wanting Remus, but he was simply quite plain, and he dressed like a battered afghan quilt, and there’s nothing offensive about that.

But, then his gaze caught the broken line of Remus’ mouth, the scar that tore across it, splitting his top lip right in the middle, and dragging his bottom down at the corner. That crooked nose is scattered with freckles and several nicks, and there’s another scar that goes from his cheekbone to his collarbone on the right side, thick and fleshy, and there’d be no hope of hiding it unless they used magic. Remus had half an eyebrow, scarred hands, and a scarred chest, and it was then that Sirius realized those things that were familiar to him, that were simply part of Remus and how he always knew him, surely took others by surprise, and made him stand out in their memory, as the man with a tattered face.

A hard yank on his hair was what eventually drew Sirius’ attention away from Remus, and back towards Harry, who was the one guilty of the pulling, and as he looked at him, he realized that he too almost certainly stood out. After all, how many mixed babies were there with bright green eyes and a large scar on their forehead? Their elderly neighbor had even made mention of it once, when Sirius and Remus were returning from the store with Harry in Remus’ arms.

“How’d he get that scar?” she asked sweetly, while cooing at Harry, “It’s a nasty one.”

“Fell out the crib,” Sirius said.

“Hit his head on the table,” Remus said, at the same time.

The old woman stared at the two of them, clearly puzzled, but thankfully Harry began to fuss with all the excess of attention, and the two of them used it as an opportunity to escape, darting up the stairs to their floor, and deciding they had to have a established story to tell people, to prevent similar problems in the future.

“Well, I suppose that’s fair enough,” Sirius said, as he tried to loosen Harry’s fingers from the strands of his hair, to little avail, “I am far too handsome to not get noticed.”

Remus rudely snorted behind his back.

* * *

“He’s awfully quiet, for his age,” Harry’s pediatrician had remarked, when they took him to a check up appointment, “Has he begun talking at all?”

Sirius didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know how to explain that, in fact, Harry had been quite advanced for his age, six months ago, he had been babbling and chatty even if he didn’t form any proper words, and he’d even gotten a hold of sounds like ‘ _da_ ’ and ‘ _ma_ ’ fairly easily, much to James and Lily’s delight.

But all of that had stopped, after the two of them died, and he was left with Sirius and Remus instead. He didn’t know how much to blame on Voldemort, and how much to blame on the two of them.

Harry had also been running a fever when he had seen the doctor, and so she had given them a script for some medicine to lower it, except that Harry clearly hated it, and refused to take it. To lessen the amount of squirming and screaming, Sirius and Remus had given up on giving him any medication that day, but that had begun to terribly backfire, by mid-afternoon. Harry had refused to go down for a nap, and instead simply lay in his crib and cried, and Sirius had watched as both his and Remus’ patience slowly began to wane, and waver, and crack beneath the unbelievable pressure.

“We’ve got to give him the medication Moony,” Sirius said with both hands over his ears and eyes squeezed shut, “I can’t take it. I’m about to see if that damn housekeeping book as a spell for deafening myself.”

The next thing he heard was the sound of Remus’ chair scratching against the floor, and he opened his eyes just as the other man got to his feet, and fetched the bag from the pharmacy off the kitchen counter, and headed back to Harry’s nursery. Reluctantly, Sirius trailed behind him, still rubbing his overly abused ears.

Lifting Harry up in one arm, cradling him against his chest, Remus now old hat at holding him, he held the bottle of medicine in the other hand, and tried to press the spout of it to Harry’s lips, hoping to encourage him to drink. Harry stubbornly shook his head, and screamed louder. Sirius, in an effort to help, picked up the discarded pharmacy bag, and dug around in it, hoping to find some clue as to how to administer the medicine, and found a small plastic syringe, and a piece of paper that told them the proper dosage to give, for a baby Harry’s age.

“Hold up Moons,” Sirius said, and held up the items he found for Remus to see. With the other’s encouraging nod, and passing of the medicine, Sirius fumbled to get it into the syringe, which took several minutes and a handful of tries, but there was an eventual success. “Here!” he said proudly, as he held it out for Remus to take.

It seemed that the new method gave Remus renewed confidence, because he popped the end into Harry’s mouth and with a single, firm push, injected all the medication into his mouth. For a moment, it all seemed to be over-- Harry had gone silent, the medicine was given, and it seemed they’d finally done something right-- but then, Harry made a face, and before either of them could react, he vomited violently onto Remus’ chest, dispelling both the bright red medicine and his breakfast.

The room was very still for a long moment after that. Then, Remus spun on his heel, handed Harry over to Sirius with a terse, “Please. Take him,” and disappeared from the room.

For whatever reason, the puking and the fussing seemed to have calmed Harry down, because he didn’t squirm in Sirius’ arms, and he didn’t resist as he was changed out of one outfit and into another, then laid back down in his crib. He almost immediately went quiet, and Sirius saw his eyes flutter closed, and he took the opportunity to slip out of the bedroom, in order to locate the one who’d left.

Remus wasn’t in the bedroom. Nor was he in the hall, or out through the window and up on the roof. It took a bit of thinking, but finally Sirius realized the perfect place where a man would go to deal with a jumper covered in baby vomit and an emotional break down.

He opened the bathroom door with one hand while taking a drag from a cigarette with the other, and found Remus sat on the floor of the shower. His hair was wet and plastered to his head, and his clothes were equally soaked, clinging to his boney frame. Sirius, wearing only his underpants, was much more suited for sitting beneath a running tap, but he also wasn’t interesting in wasting one of his last cigarettes, and so as he stepped closer, he reached up and turned the knob, shutting off the cold water, before he stepped into the stall, and plopped down onto his arse across from Remus.

Their shower had never been made for two men to sit in; it was barely suitable for one man to stand in. Sirius had to arrange himself so that his legs were interwoven between Remus’, right-left, left-right, and he said nothing as he brought the cigarette back to his lips, and watched Remus who had his head tilted back against the dingy tile.

When’s the last time they’ve kissed, he wondered, when’s the last time they fucked? As he drew in another puff from the cigarette, filling his lungs and his limbs with smoke, Sirius felt himself cringe. When’s the last time he’s jerked off?

If felt as if they didn’t do anything anymore, at least, not anything that isn’t tied to Harry, and keeping him alive and well. They cook, but not because either of them have any particular appetite or routine they stuck to. They did laundry, they kept house, they went out for walks with Harry in a pram and a grocery list in tow, but they didn’t do anything either of them really wanted to, nothing that was just for them, nothing that couldn’t be tied back directly to looking after Harry. Even sleeping felt like it was something they did so that they could be alert enough to care for him, and Sirius wanted to go and rip his hair out or scream out the window until his voice went hoarse, because his life used to revolve around just two people-- Remus and himself-- and now it was centered around just one, and neither of them were that lucky person.

He felt a little guilty that he hated it all so much, that he feared he might even hate Harry, because it wasn’t his fault his parents got murdered in front of him and it wasn’t his fault that Sirius had the stupid idea that he should hold up to his promise to James and actually raise his kid if he died. None of it was Harry’s fault, but Sirius still swallowed back that bubble of bitterness in his stomach when he looked at him sometimes, and he cursed Voldemort, and cursed James, and cursed Lily, for ever putting him in the position he was in, as if they had all deliberately planned it, knowing that Sirius wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“What was James thinking, asking me to be a godfather?” Sirius muttered, as he chewed on the filter between his teeth, “What was Lily thinking, to agree with that? I thought she was the one who had sense, she wasn’t the sort to think that some idiot that still gets his dick stuck in his zipper would be suitable for raising her kid.” Sighing, and pressing his hands to his eyes, he said, “They should have asked you.”

“Oh, because I’m doing so much better,” Remus remarked sarcastically, “And besides, you know that’s hardly appropriate. No one in their right mind would ask a werewolf to look after their child.”

Sirius gnawed even more viciously at the crushed remains, hard enough that it broke through the paper, and he tasted tobacco on his tongue. “Well fuck, if I knew that’s all I had to avoid all of this, I would have gotten myself changed sooner. C’mon Moony, give me a good bite, and maybe we can both get labeled insuitable, and pass him off to Dumbledore or McGonagall and not have to live like this.”

With his hand over his eyes, Sirius hadn’t been able to see any shift in Remus’ expression, but he had felt the sudden change in his mood, and before he could ask what had gotten the other so cross, he felt Remus kick him, his heel connecting hard with Sirius’ groin.

“Aw, fuck! What’s that for?!”

“Get fucked,” was all Remus said, as he pushed himself up onto his feet, and stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. From further down the hall, Sirius heard Harry burst out into screams again.

For the first time since he had realized he’d been followed, Remus left the flat without Sirius, and without telling him where he had gone. It wasn’t until it was late at night, and Sirius had long since gotten Harry back to bed, when the front door opened again, and Sirius sat up on the couch, just as Remus came into view, shoving off his coat.

“‘Allo,” he greeted, and Remus only returned it with a glare, “Look, Moony-- I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. You know that better than anyone. My brain hasn’t realized my mouth’s gone off and said stupid things until it’s too late. You know I’ve always been like this.”

Throwing his coat over a kitchen chair, Remus retorted, “That isn’t an excuse, Sirius. Not anymore. Not with that. Not about me.”

He couldn’t say that the other was wrong to feel that way, and so he said nothing, instead looking down at the ratted rug on the floor.

It seemed, however, that Remus had wanted him to say something, because he let out a tired sigh, and began to move towards the hallway without another word, and Sirius felt the gap between them opening up again.

“I still love you.”

That got Remus to stop, right as he passed the couch, and the two men sat, suspended, in that moment for some time.

“I still love you, Remus,” Sirius said again, as he turned, putting his arm over the back of the couch, so that he could look at the other, “I never stopped. I know I haven’t said it, but it’s the truth.”

A beat passed, one that seemed to stretch on and on, as Remus gave no indication that he had heard Sirius at all. Then, “You can’t say that to try and fix things, Sirius. It’s not fair.”

“You’re right.”

“And that hasn’t even got anything to do with what you said,” Remus continued, his back still to Sirius. Getting up and to his feet, he cautiously began to approach him, while the other man was still talking. “It wasn’t just stupid of you. It was more than than stupid. You’re selfish sometimes, Sirius, and you don’t realize how you hurt people when you are. How you’ve hurt me. You should know by now… Know me better, than to ever say something like that.”

Putting a hand on his shoulder, he gently turned Remus around. The other did not resist, but he did not immediately lift his eyes to meet his.

“I know,” Sirius murmured, as he reached out, and cupped Remus’ face in his hands, so that he could whisper, “I’m sorry.” When he kissed him, he was relieved to feel Remus slowly begin to kiss back.

They stumbled their way back to the bedroom. There were a few run-ins with corners and walls along the way, but they were eventually able to navigate themselves into the room, and once the door was closed, they immediately began to strip. It was nostalgic, it was familiar, it was the first time that Sirius had seen him naked in twelve months (other than when he’d step out of the shower, or when he’d run out of clothes, or when he’d get soaked washing Harry in the bath and needed to change, his mind helpfully noted), and he celebrated the occasion by pushing Remus against that now closed door, and dropping to his knees before him.

“Oh _shit_ ,” he heard Remus gasp, as his mouth found his cock, “Ah, fuck!” his voice pitched a little higher there, and Sirius felt his hand slip into the long strands of his hair.

He treated him carefully, tenderly, more worshiping him than anything else. It only seemed fair, given what he had done, given all he had said. He never took his mouth more than an inch away from his cock, and his hands made themselves busy as well, one holding onto a hip, keeping him in place against the door, while the slipped behind him, and gently teased the sensitive skin there, giving him two different sensations.

“Sirius,” he said in a low, throaty rasp, “ _Padfoot_ ,” he groaned, even softer, as his hips jerked into Sirius’ mouth.

“Love you too, Moony,” he responded in kind, when he pulled back briefly, just to suck and bite at the crease of his pelvis. He knew what that word meant, and he couldn’t describe how liberating it was to finally hear it again.

By the time Remus was spent, he had slipped down to the floor, and Sirius was hunched between his thighs, with both of Remus’ legs draped over his shoulders. The two of them were catching their breath, and as Remus slowly began to slide one leg off, and away from Sirius’ back, he felt the odd sensation of fabric, and Sirius looked down, before turning back to Remus, and making a face. “You kept your socks on?” he asked.

Remus’ face turned a bright red, then began to stammer in his defense. “I-It wasn’t on purpose! I forgot!”

* * *

By March Harry was starting to talk again, trying to mimic actual words rather than the mess of babbling or gurgling (or screeching, Sirius thought with a wince) that he had been doing since the two of them took him in. The first order of business naturally seemed to be getting Harry familiar with the idea that the two of them had names, and that just making a lot of noise wouldn’t get them to tend to him-- regardless if that was the truth or not. Remus had it easy enough: the syllables in his name allowed Harry to come up with a garbled word that sounded like, “Ee-miss,” as well as, thanks to Sirius referring to him as “Moony” so frequently, a much more enthusiastic chirp of “Oons!”

Sirius, on the other hand, was not nearly so lucky. His given name was difficult enough for some adults to say, let alone a nearly-toddler, but then as an alternative, ‘Padfoot’ wasn’t much better. They tried as hard as they could to find some solution, before finally settling on having him be called ‘Pads’, but Harry’s mouth hadn’t yet learned the proper way to form a ‘p’ sound, and he resorted to one he knew better, which was how Sirius ended up with the distinction of “Dads,” thrust upon him, which was one large part horrific and terrifying, and a much smaller part faintly charming.

Whatever satisfaction and pride the two of them might have taken in the fact that they were beginning to teach Harry how to speak was short lived, however, given that for as quickly as he picked up on ‘Pads’ and ‘Remus’, he just as easily picked up on other words.

“Fuck!” Harry said, and while his pronunciation left the word sounding a bit more like ‘ _fawk_ ’ than ‘ _fuck_ ’, it was still quite clear what he was trying to say. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he continued rattling off, while he shoved little plastic shapes into a box that’s got a hole in the top.

“Christ, what’ll we do?” Remus dragged his hands down his face, and leaned back against the couch from his spot on the floor. “Harry, please, don’t say that,” he pleaded, and at the sound of his name, the boy looked up and locked eyes with Remus. “Stop saying that Harry,” he said again, his tone a touch firmer.

“No Moons! Fuck, fuck!”

Sirius, for his part, was in the kitchen, cutting onions and peppers and potatoes, and piling them into a colander to be washed in the sink. In front of him, propped up on a few tin cans, was a battered book that Remus had found among his collection, and within it were several recipes that actually sounded similar to things he’d remembered having at the Potter’s home, when he was younger. So far, the smell wasn’t encouraging, but he pressed onwards regardless, though he’d nearly lost a fingertip into the vegetables more than once. “I think it’s hilarious,” he remarked, looking back at Remus with a grin, “He’ll be a public speaker yet.”

“He can’t go to nursery talking like that,” Remus pointed out, and then, having seen the look of confusion that wrinkled Sirius’ face, he said, “Did you not remember he’d eventually be going to nursery? And school?”

“I...forgot,” Sirius shrugged, and turned back to his cooking, “I never went, not until Hogwarts. I was locked up in the house with nannies and tutors.”

“Ah,” Remus said, and though it wasn’t much, Sirius heard the pity in it.

Pointedly, he ignored it, instead putting all his attention into measuring spices, and hoping they had all the right ones magically in their cupboard.

Finally satisfied he’d done all he could, Sirius set the pot to bubble on the hob, and informed Remus of their impending supper. “Well, it’s not Euphie Potter’s dum aloo, but it’s a terrible approximation,” Sirius announced, more than a little proud of himself.

“Congratulations,” Remus said politely. However, Harry, who had begun learning what that word meant, took it upon himself to begin clapping and hooting.

Though taken aback at first, Sirius quickly shifted to endeared, and he grinned at the toddler. “Yes, thank you for your vote of confidence Harry. I am quite the resourceful chef, I think.”

Though the food wasn’t finished yet, Remus still got up to his feet, helping Harry to his after, and walked into the kitchen, letting the boy hold his hand as he did, clearly wanting him to get in a bit of practice. “It’s still a bit off yet, but I do think Harry should go to nursery,” he said, and picked up the boy’s sippy cup from the counter, before he went to take a seat at the table. “Good for him to socialize. At least, that’s what I’ve been lead to believe,” he mused.

Sirius laughed, and took a seat as well, lifting Harry up and into his lap. “You’ve been reading that childcare book again?” he guessed, and received a nod, “I think that book is older than either of us. Where did you even find it?”

“I enjoy old books,” Remus muttered defensively, though he maintained his smile.

Though Sirius had been bouncing him, Harry had begun to wriggle about in his lap, and he mindfully put the boy down, allowing him to toddle and mill about the kitchen, in hopes of finding something to amuse himself with. “You do like old things,” he agreed, “Old books, old records, old jumpers…”

“You,” Remus tacked on coyly, with a grin, and Sirius let out an exaggerated gasp of offense.

“You’re older than I am! By six months!”

“I know, you think I’d have abandoned you by now for a younger man.”

“Well, haven’t you just got the answer for everything?” Sirius said with a sarcastic smile, looking to meet Remus’ eyes across the table. However, the other man wasn’t looking at him, he was instead looking past him, to something behind him, and as the color began to drain from his face it caused Sirius to look back too, just at the same moment that Harry reached up, and grabbed onto the handle of the pan that poked out over the edge of the stove, pulling it down towards himself.

Several things happened at once. Bubbling, boiling hot sauce and vegetables sloshed in the pan, spilling over the side. Sirius jumped to his feet, and tried to bolt for Harry. From behind him, he heard Remus shout a spell, and a charge of magic flew past his ear and towards the stove. Before Harry could drag the pot and it’s molten contents onto himself, they suddenly stopped mid-motion, hung suspended in the air, and as the carefully righted themselves, and the pot magically moved back from one burner to one further back, Sirius reached Harry, and he snatched him up, turning the boy around to look him in the face.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he shouted, panic and fear quickly morphing into anger, a strange and unintelligible shift, but one that possessed him nonetheless, “You could have hurt yourself! You don’t touch things like that!”

For as perspective as Sirius always believed Harry was whenever they talked to him, his green eyes seemingly always alert and focused and taking information in, as Sirius scolded him, he saw none of that understanding. Instead, the toddler’s eyes only filled with tears, as his face scrunched up and he began to wail, throwing his head back and kicking at Sirius, clearly wanting to be put down.

“That was so stupid Harry! Do you realize what could have happened?!”

“Stop shouting at him!” Remus was suddenly standing at his side, his expression darkened with disapproval and some anger of his own, but none of it seemed directed towards what Harry had nearly done. After a bit of a struggle between the two of them, he pulled Harry from Sirius’ hands, and held him close, glaring at Sirius while he gently rubbed the boy’s back. “Don’t be such an arsehole, Sirius, it was an accident. He doesn’t know what he did.”

Sirius, still in shock, still angry, and now embarrassed by Remus snapping at him, resorted to angrily shouting again. “Well, maybe now he’s learned not to do that!”

Except, it wasn’t Sirius voice that came out of his mouth in that moment. Those weren’t his words, but rather were words that he had heard said to him, and about him, more often than he liked to remember. They were the same words his father used to say to him, whenever he was punished, the same excuse he always gave, whenever someone tried to speak up in his defense, rare as those times were.

He watched as Remus softly murmured into Harry’s black curls, bouncing gently from side to side, things that he knew soothed him, things that were the perfect trick to calm him down. Sirius never recalled his parents ever doing something like what Remus was doing now.

His mother’s touch was never gentle. She never bothered to be kind; he doubted she even knew how. He remembered his father striking him when stumbled down the stairs and began to whimper from the torn skin of his knee, adding even further hurt on top of the wound rather than try to lessen it. He learned quickly to stop expecting anything good to come from his parents, but Regulus had been less jaded, perhaps more optimistic, and he’d watch as he’d go to their mother from time to time, seeking some comfort or tenderness from her. Always, he was met with anger, and violence, and Sirius, who was never taught words that might make another person feel better, not until he met much better people, had always said to him, _“Serves you right. You should have known that’d happen.”_

“Gods,” Sirius said, as he covered his eyes with one hand, and leaned back against the counter, “I’ve turned into my father.”

“You haven’t,” Remus disagreed, seeming to realize at once just what the implication of that remark could mean. However, his words fell on deaf ears, as Sirius walked away, heading towards the window, climbing out of it, and to his familiar perch on the roof.

It felt as if he couldn’t escape his family, their habits too deeply ingrained in his blood, so he escaped Remus, he escaped Harry, before he could unleash that same monster onto them.

* * *

As the summer months began to slip into autumn, the weather shifted as well, and buckets of rain began pouring down onto their heads.

When the weather wouldn’t allow Sirius to smoke up on the roof of their building, he had taken it inside, into the hallway outside their door, until Remus began to worry that even that proximity would be bad for Harry, and so Sirius and his terrible habit were banished downstairs to the lobby, where he smoked and watched people come to their mailboxes to collect their post.

Their neighbor two floors down was a girl named Jada who lived with her mother and three sisters. Sirius knew this because Jada informed him of these details, when she’d come home from primary and catch him having a smoke in the lobby, and she’d chat with him while shaking water off of her wellies and jacket.

“Hello Jada,” Sirius greeted, with a bit of a wave, before he brought his cigarette to his mouth, and took a drag. The girl returned his smile, and began to bounce over to stand next to him, as she’d done for nearly three weeks now, but quickly stopped short, about two feet away, her smile falling. “Is something the matter?” he asked, confused by her sudden behavior.

The bright neon pink clips that hung on the ends of Jada’s black braids smacked against her cheeks as she violently shook her head. “My mum got mad at me last night,” she said, “She said she could smell smoke on my clothes.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Sirius said, not quite sure whether he had to apologize about something like that, and what exactly Jada was trying to say when she mentioned it, “Maybe you shouldn’t stand so close to me then. To limit the smell.”

That seemed agreeable to her, and so the young girl kept that same two feet of distance from him, leaning against the opposite wall. “Y’know,” she spoke up again, after a pause, “Mum says that cigarettes make you sick and kill you. She says it to my grandad all the time.”

“Well your mum is right,” Sirius said, and took another long drag.

He had always had the suspicion that he was bound to die sooner than most. His mother had cursed him in that way plenty of times, his family history either had people who lived far too long or not long at all, and he simply was too stupid, too reckless, too eager to breathe for longer than a decade or two.

Except, it was Regulus that died. Then James. Then Lily. The people around him, the people who were supposed to outlive him, because they weren’t as careless as he was, because they had much more to live for than just cigarettes and motorbikes and odd jobs and maybe a shag once in awhile, were dying, and Sirius found himself left behind. He realized in that moment that he had never once thought he would ever live without any of those people, and now, he had to go on without all of them, and it caused a tightness in his chest that made him gag and choke on the smoke in his lungs.

“See?! You shouldn’t be doing that!”

* * *

The October following Harry’s second birthday seemed to sneak up on them. They hadn’t even really taken notice of it, until their neighbor on the second level put a pumpkin outside their flat, as well as a hanger on their knob that said in cobweb letters: _Happy Halloween!_

Sirius had gone quiet after he saw it, and Remus didn’t understand why, not until they were safely up in their attic room and he had finished arranging a plate of Wheaties for Harry to nibble on before dinner. As soon as the last piece of cereal was placed, he suddenly looked up, and Sirius felt his eyes on his back from where he sat on the floor, flipping through the two channels their telly had, as if enough changes might somehow produce different content.

“A year,” he whispered, and Sirius stubbornly refused to look up, “It’ll have been a year.”

“Feels like five. Or ten,” Sirius muttered, and the loud, clunky click click of the remote grew more fervent, “I’ve gone and got a grey hair. I blame it entirely on your lack of proper housekeeping.”

Before Remus could have the opportunity to form a reply, there was a sharp clattering from the kitchen, and Sirius turned to look towards it, just in time to see the little plastic plate that Remus had given to Harry be flung to the floor, the cereal bits on top of it scattered about the floor.

“No!” Harry bellowed, a new word that had rather quickly become a favorite, right along with his classic, ‘ _fuck_ ’, “No Moons! No!”

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Remus turned to him, immediately trying to sort out what had upset him, but the boy was inconsolable, now red faced and screaming, and he threw himself down onto the floor.

By then, Sirius had gotten to his feet, and moved to join Remus in the kitchen. Both men did their best to figure out what was bothering Harry, but no words seemed to reach him and he seemed much more content to kick at the floor and scream his head off, which made Sirius back up away from him, with his head in his hands.

_Why?_ he wanted to ask someone, anyone, who could give him a proper answer, _Why had this become the life he was stuck with?_

He was the next one who shouted, though his voice was much louder, and much deeper than Harry’s, coming not only from the chest of a grown man, but the body of someone who had been forced to endure far too much. The sound ripped itself out of his throat, and Sirius tore out strands of his hair, as he yanked his hands from it.

“Pads, love, calm down,” he heard Remus say, somewhere distantly, but it felt like it was coming from some place underwater.

Sirius felt his hands flexing at his sides, his fingers fruitlessly grasping and clutching for something hold, something he could dig his nails into and tear apart. Harry continued his tantrum on the floor, kicking and thrashing, the kettle screamed on the hob, the noise from the traffic outside their window turned into a loud rumbling roar, and he felt as if his head was going to explode.

Then, suddenly, it all went silent.

He didn’t know when Remus had seized him by the collar, or when he had bodily pushed him back, until he was forced against the wall. It must have been quite the impact, because a book was knocked free of some shelf above them and the edge of it caught the top of Sirius’ head, but he didn’t care, because as soon as his back was against the wall, Remus’ mouth was on top of his, and everything was inexplicably quiet.

As soon as Remus kissed him, Sirius was kissing back, his hands fisting in the fabric of his pullover, while he hooked one leg around his hip, and dragged him in tighter against him. He had never needed much to get excited, not with Remus, and so he was half hard by the time their groins were flush together, earning a long, pleased sigh to escape his lips.

It was then that he came to a realization: it turned out that, actually, the world hadn’t suddenly stopped making noise, he hadn’t spontaneously gone deaf. What had happened was that, when Remus was kissing him, nothing else mattered, and he could push it all away, he could block it out, so long as he had his tongue in his mouth, and his hands kneading his ass.

“Gods, love, what are we--” Remus pulled back after a moment, having apparently come to his senses. Sirius, however, refused to allow him to go far.

“Don’t talk, Moons,” he murmured, as he held Remus’ head between his hands, and kept him in place, “Just fuck me.”

“Wait,” Remus said, and then, again, “Wait.” Though he pulled apart, Sirius could see it didn’t please him to do so, and he held up his hands, in a gesture that asked Sirius not to move. “Harry,” he said, speaking once again to the boy still on the floor, who had stopped shrieking and stopped kicking, but was certainly crying, and looked incredibly worn out, “I think you need a nap. Come on, it’s time to lay down.”

The boy fought only a little, but eventually enough coaxing and the promise of two stuffed animals and a story got him to push himself onto his feet, and follow Remus back towards his bedroom.

Sirius, for his part, managed to pick up the plate and turn off the hob, before he vomited into the sink.

He didn’t know how long he stood there at the basin, rising out his mouth time and time again. Eventually, there came the feeling of an arm slipped around his waist, and a warm weight pressed into his back, and Sirius shuddered, more from exhaustion, than any pleasurable sensation.

“I don’t know if I can take this anymore,” he whispered, and received a kiss on the nape of his neck in reply.

He allowed Remus to guide him back to their bedroom. It was not unlike how Harry had followed him just before; Sirius had his tantrum, and now Remus was going to take him away and calm him down, and to him, in that moment, nothing sounded sweeter.

They began to touch each other again, as they moved towards the bed, Sirius pulling in Remus for a kiss, and Remus’ hands grabbing onto Sirius’ hips, pulling him flush against him, so that they could move together. The back of Sirius’ knees were the first things to hit the edge of the bed, and once they did, Remus bodily lifted him, making him let out a sound of shock before he was tossed down onto the mattress, and then Remus was on top of him, and the world was blessedly silent again.

He wanted to forget. He wanted to push everything away, to run off into the woods and never return, to escape the life he’s trapped himself in, with no way out. It felt like he was suffocating, and any time he got a short gasp of air, it was knocked out of him again, and he just fell deeper and deeper into the abyss.

The thought of death was a frequent visitor in his mind, and though at first Sirius tried to push it out, lately, he had come to welcome it. He thought about ending it with a spell, of casting a hex on himself that made things quick and painless and oh-so-perfectly cliche. When he sat on the roof of the flat, he considered throwing himself off of it, so that he could splatter and break apart on the cobblestone below. He once even dreamed about taking his bike and sending it off the top of the Tower Bridge, but only stopped himself because hilariously, he cared far too much about the bike to wreck it in such a fashion. The bike was worth keeping around, but Sirius didn’t think that he was.

Remus’ teeth found their way to his neck, and though his bite was firm, it was still careful, still mindful, and Sirius realized that he hated it. Why couldn’t Remus just tear out his throat, rip him apart, then gobble him up? He could almost see it in his mind’s eye: Remus snapping his bones with his teeth, so that he could hungrily suck the marrow out of them. _All the better to eat you with, my dear,_ his mind whispered to him, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to be consumed and destroyed, torn out of the world with no trace of him left behind.

When Remus pulled his jeans off, his hands brushed across the backs of Sirius’ legs. There was a scar there, on the fleshy part of his left calf, that was gnarled and ragged, a scar that came from skin and muscle being torn apart, and then hastily knit back together. He’d had it since he was sixteen, and he had always found a way to excuse it. Got hit by the Willow, while stupidly playing a game of Chicken. Did it to himself over summer vacation, to get out of a mandatory family vacation that he’d rather be caught dead then attend. It was the result of his first turn on his motorbike, when he hadn’t quite realized it’s torque, and sent himself crashing into the ground.

They were all lies, of course, and only Remus knew the truth.

It wasn’t like he would have ever explained to anyone else what had happened anyway. Not even James or Peter knew, and they were once some of the people that Sirius trusted the most. It was a secret, between him and Moony, and he intended to keep it that way, for as long as he lived.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a hot kiss pressed to the inside of his thigh, then another, further down, closer to his knee, and then a third, right over the scarred flesh of his calf. Perhaps intentionally, perhaps not, it only reminded him of the night he had gotten the scar, the night where Remus sunk his teeth into his leg, and nearly tore it to shreds.

Remus shifted back the next morning and had been inconsolable for nearly an hour. He had tried to pull away, had cursed himself, cursed his existence, and pleaded with Sirius to just hex him, and kill him, because he had hurt the person who was closest, and he didn’t think he could be trusted to not do it again. They hadn’t even thought about the fact that he could have infected Sirius until even longer after that, and that thought sent Remus spiraling further, forcing Sirius to be the one who grounded him, and brought him back from the brink.

_“It’ll be all right,”_ he promised him, his hands on his shoulders, _“No matter what. It’ll be all right. Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe something will. Either way, I’m always with you. You know I’ll always stick with you, Moony. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”_

Remus put his hand beneath his knees, pushing his hips up, and spreading his legs. Sirius obediently complied, and then tipped his head back with a groan, as he felt Remus settle against him, his cock hard and pressing against his entrance.

“I’ve got you,” Remus whispered into his mouth, as his lips found his, “I’ve got you.”

Sirius needed to believe that was true.


End file.
